


Minutiae

by FullmetalArchivist (1stTimeCaller)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Everything else is pure fluff, F/M, Home, Humor, Mod Prompts, One Shot Collection, One Word Prompts, One kind-of-angsty story, Propinquity, Royai - Freeform, Royai Week 2018, Seasons, Secrets, Spotlight - Freeform, Temperance, Vibrancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-20 21:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14902685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1stTimeCaller/pseuds/FullmetalArchivist
Summary: A collection of one-shots themed on Mod-prompts for Royai Week 2018.DAY 7: SECRETS - "Who could warrant her trust, her earnest smiles, her dry humor, her gorgeous body, her defiant eyes, her ridiculous devotion, her resilient spirit? Who could hold her soul in their hands and not dirty it in some way?"





	1. Day 1: Propinquity

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Royai Week! I picked the mod-prompts over the fan-prompts because they were less specific, so I felt I was less likely to accidentally copy someone's idea.
> 
> I am a sucker for snappy dialogue, so to challenge myself I made the first two chapters almost completely dialogue-free. I wanted to focus on moments instead, and I'm really happy with the result. I am also not in the right head-space to make a good go at an angsty-fic without bumming myself out too much, so most of these are going to be sweet as candy.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

 

Roy is acutely aware of what he has taken from his adjutant.

She has willingly given it, of course. She bared her back to him and gave him the most powerful secret in existence, inked in exquisite detail on her own body, and he excitedly received it. It kick started his career as a State Alchemist, with all of the money and power and responsibility that came with it.

But his duty to his country made him do some unforgivable things, and when he betrayed his own ideals for the military, he had betrayed hers as well. She followed him into the military, moved by his words, which she found out – in the worst possible way – were simply naive, empty promises. He took the softness from her eyes. And with shaking shoulders, she asked him to burn her, and take away the prospect of more people like him. He took that too, and it hurt both of them. She never once called out in pain, and he knew that she stayed as quiet as possible to try to make him feel better, even as he was melting her skin. He took her silence with a mix of gratitude and heartache.

When he called her into his office to ask her to follow him, she saluted him, firm and steady, and told him she’d follow him into hell. Both of them knew in that moment that the words were not starry-eyed. They were prophecy. In asking her to follow him, he took the very prospect of a happy, normal life from her. And she gave it to him. She was willing to give her own life for him.

Roy knows that he loves her, but he can’t pinpoint _when_ he fell for her. It seems like something that transcends time. Roy Mustang is in love with Riza Hawkeye; it is not a question of when, it just is. So years ago, when he first felt the itch of acting on his feelings, he remembered everything he had taken from her, and decided that he couldn’t follow through with it. He couldn’t ask any more of her than she has given him. And besides, he was her superior officer. Frat laws be damned, he still never wanted her to feel like his advances were orders to be followed. He resolved that day to let her decide. In her own time, on her own terms, she would come to him. It gave him the strength to keep going. He would not take from her, she would take from him, and he would willingly give her everything he had to offer. One day.

Roy’s a romantic at heart, so when he decided that, he had been filled with a sense of calm, knowing that all he had to do was wait for her.

And in all that calming and knowing, he had somehow forgotten that she was a damn _sniper_.

Roy’s not a naturally patient man. He’ll play the long game when he has to, but he’s much more adept at chasing after instant gratification. _She_ , on the other hand, is the most patient person he’s ever known. She never gets fidgety or restless, she’s comfortable with long stretches of silence, and he’s pretty sure he’s never heard her so much as sigh with boredom.

Havoc tells a story every now and again of her Academy days, when the snipers-to-be were set on a training mission and left to man their stations until they were told they could leave. But the orders never came, which was the point of the whole exercise. The military were testing how long they could last until they gave up. Some of the strongest cadets last over 24 hours before collapsing with exhaustion or just getting up and leaving. She lasted over 72 hours. No food, no water, no sleep, no movement, not even a damn bathroom break. Eventually, her superiors caved before she did, collecting her dehydrated ass from her post because they were afraid she’d do permanent damage to herself.

_That’s_ the kind of patience Roy had forgotten he was dealing with.

It’s a blessing, usually. She would have to be patient in order to put up with him. But it becomes decidedly less of a blessing when he’s waiting for her to make a move and she is taking _none_ of the opportunities presented.

He’s tried dropping hints, with enough plausible deniability that it wouldn’t be considered coming on to her. But the hints were still strong enough to suggest that if she were to kiss him, he’d be okay with that. In fact, he’d be more than okay. He’d probably even kiss her back. Maybe he’d deepen the kiss, pin her up against the nearest wall and…

Anyway, he has definitely implied that he’d be interested in that.

After exhausting the amount of ways he could suggest that she should make a move, he started orchestrating situations that would be pretty ideal for a kiss. He would reach for a file at the same time as her, letting their hands brush together as they sat alone, in his office on a late night. Or he would walk her home after a night out with the team and stand outside her door, leaning against her doorjamb and waiting for her to find her keys. Or he would find her in the records office and read a file over her shoulder, creating the perfect opportunity for her to just turn around and notice their proximity and _God, it would have been perfect_.

She let every moment pass. She moved her hand away. She found her keys and went inside alone. She brushed past him without even looking up from her file.

Fate has orchestrated moments too. He can’t count how many times they’ve cheated death. They’ve been so close – one or the other or sometimes both at once – to dying in the middle of a mission, or a battle, or one time because of an insane driver. They’ve had each other’s limp, weak bodies in their arms, and _still_ nothing has happened between them. Every time he even thinks about the times he almost lost her, he has an overwhelming urge to pull her close and kiss her until his lungs burn with the need for air. He knows why he’s holding back, what he can’t understand is _why is she?_

If he were an idiot, he’d assume she simply wasn’t interested in him that way. But he’s not an idiot, he knows with every fiber of his being that she loves him. And her love for him is so bright and burning that it makes everyone else’s love look like mild interest. The only person who could love as deeply as she does is him. They are perfect for each other in literally every way, except they’re not even dating, let alone living together or married, like he had envisioned would have happened by now when he first decided to let her make the first move.

Maybe the reason she never wanted to kiss him when they were in danger was because she never wanted their first kiss to be filled with despair. And he can kind of see where she’d be coming from. He doesn’t ever want her to think that she is anything less than the woman he’s wanted since they were teenagers. He would hate for her to think that the only reason he’d kiss her would be out of desperation.

But they’re not desperate now. Neither of them are dying, and she’s looking beautiful and she’s kind-of-almost touching him and he could not have envisioned a more ideal situation if he tried (and he _has_ tried).

They’re going to a ball, to celebrate a new peace treaty between Drachma and Amestris. She came over to his place beforehand, to go over the list of who will be there and who he needs to rub elbows with. He’s in a grey suit and she’s in an emerald green silk dress that reaches her knees and wraps around her back and hugs her curves just perfectly. When he answered the door, he told her just how beautiful she looked before he could stop himself. She simply nodded and thanked him, returning the compliment with a lot more professionalism than he managed. She followed him into the sitting room and they began their game-plan for the night. When he struggled to put his tie on, she approached him, innocently enough, and helped him out, before fixing his collar over her handiwork. And now here they are.

She’s standing before him with her hands under his collar, her fingers brushing against his neck. Her breath catches as she looks up at him. His mouth is hanging open slightly, shocked by her proximity, and it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. She’s so close he can feel her breath on his neck, and he’s sure she can feel his quickening pulse throbbing beneath her fingers. Her eyes are shining in the warm light of his living room, the light dancing and catching all the different shades of brown and red and yellow and black.

They haven’t been this close before without being near death, and he wants to catalogue every feature of her face, but he can’t stop looking at her eyes. She’s meeting his gaze – she’s always been good at reading him, especially by his eyes – and he’s trying to use that to his advantage; to think as loudly as possible and burn a message into her brain:

_Kiss me. For God’s sake you idiot, kiss me!_

The silence hangs between them and she hasn’t moved yet, and it’s taking all of his strength to keep himself from lunging on her. _It has to be her decision, it has to be her decision, it has to be her decision, kiss me dammit!_ With every labored inhale he takes, his chest rises, the movement brushing her forearms against his chest as if his body is trying to feel more of her, of its own volition. Still, he holds himself back. _It has to be her decision_.

He has no idea how long they stand like this, but when the moment passes, it passes so fast that it makes him dizzy. Suddenly her eyes are downcast, she is two steps away and his tie is perfectly knotted and straight. He looks at the air where she had just been standing, before clearing his throat awkwardly and shifting his attention to her new position. The light still dances in her eyes, but he is more interested in the warm pink tones on her cheeks. Okay great, well at least he’s not crazy. She felt it too, otherwise she wouldn’t be blushing.

“We’re going to be late, sir.” There it is, his honorific, the barrier they put between themselves long ago that they can’t seem to cross. Well, _he_ could cross it just fine, it’s only really her who has the problem with it. The honorifics connect them, but they also seem to wedge a distance between them, one that she would probably label as ‘professionalism’. He finds it ridiculous that she could be so concerned with something as trivial as anti-fraternization policies when they have broken much more serious rules together.

He blinks a few times to try waking up from his daze, and slowly the rest of the room comes back into focus. “Can’t have that, I suppose. Lead the way, Captain.”

As she turns around and walks towards the door, he lets his eyes drift down to follow the sway of her hips. She opens the door and waits for him to exit. He puts his itching hands in his pockets as he walks past her. She follows behind him until they reach the car, and he slides through the passenger door as she takes to the driver’s seat.

Roy releases a soft sigh and fishes the invitation from his pocket. In the bottom corner is the date; today’s date. _October 12 th_. He’s going to give her until after Christmas. If she still hasn’t made a move by then, it’s his turn. He’s given her years, so giving her another few months is more than fair, in his mind. He hopes that she won’t need the extra time, that tonight she’ll take him home and follow him inside and he can explore what’s under that dress she’s wearing.

Riza Hawkeye may have the patience of a sniper, but he’s almost at his limit.


	2. Day 2: Vibrancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one's a little shorter, and it's the closest that this collection will get to "angst" I still feel like it isn't _really_ angst because a) we know how this story ends and b) it's just too optimistic to feel all that sad.
> 
> This has 1 line of dialogue in it from the manga, the rest is interior monologue. Although from tomorrow on, it will be dialogue-central around here.
> 
> Thank you so much for the feedback and the kudos on yesterday's chapter. They mean the world to me so please, keep them coming!

 

Can you describe something dark as vibrant? Riza isn't sure. She's heard the word almost exclusively in relation to bright colors or bright people. She visualizes vibrancy as red. Loud, hot and blindingly bright. The red of a warning light. The red of a woman's lipstick. The red of the Colonel's flames.

But the Colonel isn't vibrant. Yes, when he speaks to his superiors or the kind of woman brave enough to wear red lipstick, he is the picture of vibrancy, so bright he lights up any room he's in. There is an intensity to his show of vibrancy that demands attention.

But she always thought that that wasn't the _real_ him. That his personality matched his hair and eyes. He is dark. Dark pasts, dark jokes, dark thoughts, dark dreams. There is an intensity to this darkness as well. He is not a rain-cloud, he is a storm. Those close to him know about this darkness, and most fear it. She feared it only minutes ago, when his eyes darkened and hardened in the tunnels as he readied his gloved hand, aimed towards Envy's weakened, tiny body.

Most of the time though, she doesn't fear his darkness; she understands. Red is vibrant, unable to be ignored. Red is the color of blood, and they both have so much of it on their hands. Red is the color of the irises of the people they massacred. When you extinguish the light from people's eyes, how can you be anything other than dark? Riza never truly feared Pride; she has had shadows following her for years.

Still, somehow, through it all, Roy Mustang was always able to affect the idea of vibrancy. His flirting and childish antics and lopsided smirks were so convincing that sometimes even she was fooled. She has never been good at that kind of masquerade. She remains stoic and serious because it is closer to her true self, even if it is sometimes used to distance herself from genuine moments of vibrancy. She is dark, and she cannot hide it as well as him.

Or so she thought.

Now that she sees the blood seeping onto the floor, her mind is changed. Maybe her serious demeanor was more of an act than she believed. This is all her blood ( _too much, far too much to be coming from one person_ ), and she realizes that she has always been vibrant red on the inside – no matter how dark her past, or her future, if she manages to have much of a future – and she feels a profound relief, knowing that she is still human, knowing that she bleeds red like everyone else.

And as she desperately tries to stop him from making the worst mistake of his life (she's so mad that he would even consider it, to throw away the chance to save the world over something as trivial as her), she sees the wrath leave his eyes, replaced by a desperate, reluctant resignation. It is a shift in emotion, but the intensity remains.

"I get it, Lieutenant. I won't do Human Transmutation."

Her vision blurs around the edges as she struggles to hold on to consciousness, but his eyes remain in focus. Even from this distance, she can see them shine. She decides that yes, something dark – as dark as his obsidian eyes – _can_ be vibrant. She understands now, that while they are both dark in many ways, they are not _just_ dark. Both of them have a vibrancy; not the false one he wears for the public but something much deeper, yet much brighter. It is in his eyes, in his flames, in his hopes for the future, in her loyalty and her faith in him. It is in their actions, every day, in the underlying thrum of their feelings toward one another. It is in the unspoken acknowledgement that they would be perfect for each other if the world was a little less cruel and if they didn't have bigger goals.

It is in her blood, even as it spills onto the cold floor.

As she passes out, she thinks that she can die happy, knowing that he won't succumb to the same darkness that took him when he faces Hughes' killer. She can die happy having known him and loved him, having learned from him that _she_ is vibrant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! And stay tuned for tomorrow's chapter, prompt: "Spotlight". I'm really looking forward to you all seeing it, it is probably the most fun I've ever had writing something and I hope you'll all like it.


	3. Day 3: Spotlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know when you're really proud of something you've done, and then suddenly you're about to publicize it and you're like "oh no but what if I'm wrong and it's actually really bad?"? I've got a slight case of that with this story. Please let me know whether or not I'm crazy by letting me know what you think of it, it would mean the world to me! Thanks in advance!

Roy Mustang is no stranger to the spotlight.

Although he is no longer the youngest State Alchemist, he is still the youngest Colonel the army has ever had. His reputation as the Hero of Ishval, while unfortunate, has been very useful in securing his place as a climber in the military ladder. And his youth and rank bring about other benefits. He's often not sure if he's more grateful for the respect of men or the attentions of women that seem to follow in his wake. Both have their perks and both contribute to his confidence. And confidence is vital to someone who spends so much time in the spotlight.

That said, his celebrity comes with some downsides. At the moment, that downside is Havoc's pretty valid point that he could attract unwanted attention on the latest undercover mission. He doesn't much like the idea that he could jeopardize a mission, but he especially dislikes the idea of Havoc going in his stead, considering its parameters.

"You're just looking for an excuse to cozy up to her," he accuses. Havoc has a nasty habit of periodically remembering that he works with a beautiful woman, before proceeding to try his luck with said woman for a week or so, usually until he gets himself a new crush. Roy reckons the first time he tried it on with her was when they were in the academy together, but Havoc only seems to take the hint temporarily.

For the past few days, Havoc has been in one of _those_ moods, flirting with the Lieutenant as he gets firmly and humiliatingly rebuked at every turn. Breda's been having the time of his life watching Havoc fail over and over, but Roy's starting to get more than a little pissed off at his subordinate's antics.

A lazy grin spreads across Havoc's face. "Cozy up? Not the words I would have used, but…" Havoc must have caught the murderous glare in Roy's eye, because he doesn't finish the sentence. "I'm joking! Come on boss, I've done plenty of covert ops before! And unlike you, I'm not going to have women calling out my real name on the streets!"

Roy scoffs. "That's for damn sure."

Havoc scowls, but lets the insult slide. "You know I'm right. We can't have that kind of heat on us."

He decides against cracking a joke about his hotness. "I can wear a damn hat or something. You're overthinking it."

"What, someone who looks suspiciously like the Flame Alchemist in a hat just so happens to be at a function where a crime boss is? That's not believable!"

"More believable than you getting a date!" he mutters.

"Hey!"

"Hey yourself! Who's in charge here?"

Havoc huffs, crossing his arms and slinking further into the chair. "Why don't we just ask her?"

"Splendid idea! She can decide. Come on." He stands up and walks out of the office, Havoc following suit. Havoc's suggestion is the end of this argument, in Roy's mind. There is no way his own aide wouldn't choose him.

Exiting his office, they find her at her desk, working diligently. The rest of the team are in the room too, so this is in danger of turning into a bit of a show. But Roy is and expert at putting on a show, and he doesn't mind performing in front of his subordinates. Especially if he manages to outperform his cocky Second Lieutenant.

"Lieutenant," he calls, and Hawkeye raises her head towards them.

"Who would you rather go on a date with, him or me?" Havoc blurts.

Hawkeye's expression looks too bored to be called a glare, but it comes close to one. Her raised eyebrow is a very clear answer, even to those who can't read her as well as Roy can: _I'm not playing this game._

Roy shoots Havoc a disapproving look before clarifying. "We've been given a ticket with a plus-one to the Warner's charity gala tomorrow evening, and we've heard word that Brockman is attending. It's our chance to try gather information on him prior to arrest. The best course of action is to pose as a couple, so you're going to have to be my plus-one."

" _Your_ plus-one? Hawkeye, he'll blow his cover!" Havoc interjects. "I say _we_ get dolled up and you can keep me from chasing down too many shots." He punctuates his sentence with a wink, and Roy considers punching him in the face.

"It's not the alcohol she should be worried about you chasing! You're going to end up getting kicked out for coming on to someone's wife," he argues. He turns to his Lieutenant again. "If you don't have anything appropriate to wear, I will give you tomorrow afternoon off to go dress shopping." He plasters his most charming smirk on his face. "I'm sure you'll look great in anything, just let me know the color so I can match my tie."

Hawkeye's expression doesn't change as her eyes dart warily between him and Havoc. The rest of the team are also regarding the two men, not bothering to hide the curious expressions on their faces. Breda is practically rubbing his hands in glee. The man is probably internally placing a bet.

"The Chief is one publicity stunt away from having a line of damn action figures! Everyone knows him, it's too risky. You and me? A couple of hot young blondes? We'll fit right in," Havoc drawls.

"Fit right in? Exactly how many galas have you been to, Havoc? What riveting conversations will you be hoping to strike with the upper echelon? Not to mention it will be a no-smoking event. How can you have her back if you're going outside for a smoke every twenty minutes?" Roy snorts. "Face it: when it comes to more distinguished events, I have the advantage."

Havoc visibly deflates. "Elric's right about you, you really can be a bastard sometimes."

Mustang turns to face Havoc and Havoc turns to him as well, both squaring their shoulders and sizing each other up as if someone is going to throw a punch. Havoc is much taller than Roy, so at this proximity, he has to crane his neck to meet his eyes. But Roy has the benefit of rank.

"Watch your language, I'm still your superior officer. That means what I say goes, so I'm not even sure why we're playing this silly game in the first place."

"You said that she can decide!"

He has him there. Roy huffs.

"Fine." He turns back to face her desk. "Lieutenant?"

"Hawkeye?" Havoc turns to her as well. As does the rest of the team, everyone looking at her expectantly.

She continues to look between the two men, considering them. Roy feels scrutinized under her gaze, but he is confident. Both options have their pros and cons, so at this point it's pretty much a game of favorites. His chest swells with self-assurance at that thought. He's pretty certain that she has never offered to follow Havoc into hell, so it's clear to him who the favorite is. He glances at Havoc for a brief moment. He looks hopeful, but nervous. _As he should be_ , Roy thinks. Her contemplative face is like a spotlight shining on them, and Roy thrives in the spotlight. Nobody should try to outperform him.

"And I absolutely have to go?" she asks flatly.

"Yes!" Roy and Havoc reply in unison.

Her gaze finally rests on him, and he can see in her eyes that she has made up her mind. Ha! He knew it!

"I believe the best course of action would be to attend with the Second Lieutenant."

Roy is sure he must have shattered into pieces onto the floor, and he can barely hear Havoc's whoop of victory through the rubble.

"This is going to be so much fun, you'll forget that you're there to do work! We could get a bite to eat beforehand too, can't go into a mission on an empty stomach, you know? Oh, I'll have to rent a tux!" Havoc turns to Roy, a smug grin on his face. "Hey Mustang, you know the etiquette for dos like this. Should I wear a tie or one of them Dickie-bows?" he teases. Roy doesn't have time to recover from the initial blow before she speaks again, as deadpan as ever.

"Not you, Havoc."

Mustang sees Havoc internally shatter as well. For a second, Roy basks in the smugness of seeing Havoc put in his place, before confusion takes over. They both look back towards Hawkeye, perplexed.

She remains the paramount of calm. "Second Lieutenant Breda and I will take the invitation and gather intel."

Roy feels the air move in the room as everyone whips their heads to Breda's general area. For a moment, the Second Lieutenant looks as surprised as Roy feels, jaw hanging as if the hinge of his mandible had broken. After a couple of seconds, his expression changes as he considers her words, a contemplative hand stroking his chin. A spark of epiphany lights up in his eyes, as if he suddenly understands her logic.

"Hm. Agreed," is all he says.

"What? Why?" Havoc splutters loudly, voicing the question of everyone else in the room, if their expressions are anything to go by.

Hawkeye winces at Havoc's volume. "Falman has never done a covert op, and this is too sensitive for his first undercover mission. He would be a liability. No offense, Falman."

Falman collects his jaw from the floor for long enough to mutter a "none taken," in response.

"And Fuery will be of far more benefit controlling the communications system. As for _you_ ," she looks at Roy again. "Havoc is correct, we can't risk somebody recognizing you."

"But what about _me_?" Havoc practically screeches, somewhat pathetically.

Hawkeye continues to address Roy. "Havoc is very tall and visibly in excellent shape," she deadpans, as if answering the question completely.

Roy feels anger flare up in him at her explanation. What, is she _attracted_ to Havoc? Does she not think she could control herself around him? Sure, he's a good-looking man, Roy supposes, but she could do way better than the lovesick dolt. And wait, suddenly she's fine with dating someone she works with? Well that's hardly fair to… others who might want to date her. Not that he's been thinking about her dating life, and in any case, she didn't say she wanted to date Havoc, just that he was tall and fit. Is that her type? Again, that hardly seems fair. Some people don't have the Behemoth gene, they can't help how tall they grow. _Oh God Roy, drop it_.

" _Why is that a bad thing_?" Havoc keens.

Breda intervenes. "You'll close her off," he gruffs nonchalantly.

Hawkeye nods. "Correct. It would be difficult for me to strike up a conversation with Brockman if Havoc is nearby. Breda doesn't look quite so… Intimidating."

Breda stretches his hands behind his head and reclines in his seat, wearing a shit-eating grin. "What can I say? I'm easy-going."

"Breda has undercover experience, he is adept at changing his behavior to suit his surroundings, and he won't attract any unnecessary attention," she summarizes, and although Roy is annoyed and still utterly flabbergasted, a part of his brain begrudgingly acknowledges that she might be right.

Hawkeye's neutral expression breaks for a moment as a playful grin spreads across her face. It looks almost alien, his Lieutenant with a teasing smile. "Plus, he looks very handsome in a suit," she adds as an afterthought.

Breda's face illuminates with mock-joy, as if he is in on the joke, and he clutches his chest, swooning cartoonishly. "Why _thank you_ Lieutenant!" Suddenly, the flash of ire Roy felt for Havoc moments ago is redirected to his _other_ Second Lieutenant. The grin on Breda's face tells Roy that he's trying to get a rise out of him, or Havoc, or both of them, and Roy has to hold himself back from taking the bait. Havoc's crestfallen pout is less inconspicuous.

Breda claps his hands before rubbing them together. "So, let's talk strategy. Do you want to stick to the regular codenames? Do I call you Elizabeth?"

Roy winces at the thought. She's _his_ Elizabeth, that's _his_ codename for her. He doesn't much like the idea of Breda cooing her codename the same way he does for covert missions.

Hawkeye considers the question for a moment. "I don't think that would be wise, given its familiar use. I wouldn't like to slip and accidentally call you Bess." Relief washes through Roy for a brief moment, before her expression changes. She smiles demurely at Breda, leaning forward and saying in a sultry voice that Roy's only ever heard her use on the phone: "You can call me whatever you like."

He almost chokes on his own tongue. When the hell did his Lieutenant get so playful?

Breda's smile widens as he looks up at Mustang and Havoc. "What do you think, boys? Does she look more like a Trixy or a Candi?"

Roy's very lucky that he hasn't been able to move a muscle in his face for the past few minutes, or he may have snarled at the suggested names. _She's not a damn call-girl_. He briefly considers writing Breda up for addressing his superior officer as 'boy'. It would be a petty thing to do, but at least he could crack down on this madness.

Havoc whines again. "It's not fair!"

Breda's expression turns serious. "You're right. It wouldn't be fair to give her a name like that," he muses, purposely misinterpreting Havoc's complaint. "Something a little more elegant… What about Charlotte?" he turns towards Hawkeye again, matching her flirty demeanor. His half-lidded eyes regard her dreamily.

"Hmm. And what should I call you?" Damn, the woman's voice is like silk and she has the countenance to match it. Whatever about the rest of them, Hawkeye is a really perfect actress.

Breda looks like his ego is about to burst out of his skull. "Something simple and easy, just like me."

"Jack?"

Breda's grin stretches as he winks conspiratorially at Roy. "Of all trades, baby."

Roy scoffs, which is much more elegant than the reaction he wanted to convey. "This whole plan is stupid," he mutters darkly.

"How so?" Breda asks, a false inquisitive expression on his smug face.

"Because!" Havoc balks. "Nobody's going to believe _you two_ are dating! No offense, buddy."

"Why not? Hot women date below their league all the time. Besides," he says, turning his nose up in indignation, "The lady agrees, I scrub up nicely. And _as you pointed out,_ the Colonel said it was her decision."

Roy has no response to that. And he has to admit, it is the best plan. Breda and Hawkeye are both very smart and discreet enough not to blow their cover. If Roy is spending his time basking in the spotlight, they are the masters at hiding in his shadow.

Breda seems to recognize the resignation in Roy's face. "So it's settled! I'll get my suit cleaned." He regards Hawkeye again. "Are you taking tomorrow afternoon off for dress shopping?"

Hawkeye's slips effortlessly back into her serious face, picking up a file and looking it over as if she wasn't just flirting with her co-worker. "I think I already have something that should be appropriate."

"Just tell me a color and I'll get a tie to match."

"Red."

Breda looks up at Mustang like a kid asking his mom if she'll buy him some candy. "Boss, can I borrow a red tie?"

Mustang gapes for a moment, still trying to piece together in his mind what the hell just happened, before he catches himself and glares at Breda. "Sure."

Breda grins. "Thanks Chief. We'll brainstorm a game-plan and have an outline for you in a couple hours. Isn't that right, _Charlotte_?"

Hawkeye nods, not looking up from her file.

Roy likes to believe that he returns to his office gracefully, slipping past a horrified Havoc and a bemused Falman and Fuery. He likes to believe that he doesn't stomp or huff or slam the door behind him.

When he sits down at his desk, he tries to get into the mindset of the more boring parts of covert ops. He still has a part in the mission, even if he is more than a little pissed off that he's a stage-hand instead of the leading role.

Thing is, he'd already imagined himself in-character when he thought he'd be the star. Not so much the mission aspects, just the subterfuge that would make sure they looked the part. He had some of the choreography mapped out and memorized. Her arm linked in his as they walked in, the gentle coaxing of his fingertips on her lower-back as he steered her through the crowd, the bedroom eyes they would use to look at each other, only half-practiced.

Maybe she would hear something relevant to the mission, and in order to pass on the message with subtlety, she would lean in playfully, her lips touching his ear as she relayed the information with a whispered sigh. Maybe someone _would_ notice him, and she would catch their puzzled glance before grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him in violently for a kiss, hiding his face. He would freeze up in surprise but recover quickly, kissing her back with equal passion and fervor, for longer than was strictly necessary, before pulling away dizzily and shooting her a teasing smile that said " _Why Lieutenant, I wasn't aware you felt that way_ ".

As he tries to focus on his work, his thoughts keep drifting to the rather uncomfortable idea that Breda will be replacing him in those scenes. He huffs as his imagination substitutes Breda into the choreography. If Roy isn't the man in the spotlight, there will be no kissing scene. If there is, he'll have them both fired.

After a few minutes, the door opens and Hawkeye strolls in. He tries to keep the petulance from his face as she approaches his desk.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"I need the invitation, Sir."

Roy slumps his shoulders as he opens his drawer and retrieves the invitation. "Make sure Breda hands it in. It needs to look like he was the one invited."

"Yes Sir." She salutes him diligently before turning on her heel to leave.

"Oh, and Lieutenant?"

She stops in her tracks and turns back around to face him.

"You should leave early tomorrow to prepare. But if you have the time, call into the office again before the mission. It will give us a chance to go over the strategy before we move into position." He smirks at her playfully. "And in any case, I'd like a chance to see you in that red dress."

A light blush creeps up her face and Roy's smirk softens into something more genuine. Sure, she can affect him with her coy acting, but seeing her more authentic reactions would always be the sexiest thing he could imagine.

She nods sharply in response, as if trying to jolt the blush away from her cheeks. She barks an affirmative "Sir!" and turns again to leave.

Roy feels calmer from the brief interaction as he watches her walk out, closing the door gently behind her. Maybe he's overreacting. Breda won't let her get hurt, and if he knows what's good for him, he won't try it on with her either. She's probably safer with him than with Roy or Havoc, in that regard.

But even though she'll play her role perfectly, she's not as good at blending in as she thinks. Try as she might to be as inconspicuous as possible; he sees her. It's no wonder Havoc occasionally forgets not to make a move on her, she can manage to stay in the shadows for months at a time, but then something will happen – she'll make a surprising joke, or she'll laugh without abandon or she'll touch a shoulder reassuringly – and suddenly she just _glows_. He wonders if Havoc experiences it in the same way, if he suddenly _sees_ her.

However Havoc experiences it though, there's no way he feels the same intensity that Roy does. To him, she will always shine brighter than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is dedicated to [That_Hoopy_Frood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_Hoopy_Frood/pseuds/That%20Hoopy%20Frood), who has taught me that I'm not alone in thinking that Breda is an absolute gem. Breda's old code-name, Bess, comes from Hoopy's excellent piece 'Ciphers', which for some reason isn't on ao3


	4. Day 4: Temperance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaa, sorry this is late, I had no internet yesterday!
> 
> I'll be uploading day 5 before I go to sleep tonight too, and we should be back on track properly for day 6.
> 
> Oh and also thank you so so much for the feedback on my last chapter, this community is so kind and lovely and I'm very grateful!
> 
> Enjoy!

When Riza opened the door to her hotel room, he saw the annoyed look on her face before anything else, as if her mood for the evening were practiced or anticipated. She was in a nightshirt and loose pants, her hair sticking out in places, more unruly than usual because she was beginning to grow it out. He loved the awkward stage it was at now, tousled just so and not quite as stringent as the rest of her always is. Her rowdy hair betrays her general demeanor, until she is like this – in bedclothes late at night with an exasperated frown on her face – when it seems to suit her countenance just fine.

“Can I help you sir?”

“You can drop the ‘sir’, for starters,” he said with a smirk, leaning casually against the frame of the door, hands behind his back to hide his gift.

She sighed and opened the door further, giving him room to saunter past her, keeping the object in his hands from view before turning to face her and presenting his offering with a ‘ta-dah’ style flourish.

Her eyes widened as she quickly closed the door behind her. “What are you doing with that?”

He chuckled. “Snuck it in my suitcase. I was hoping you could help me out with it?”

She glared at him. “This is a dry town, sir.”

“Stop calling me sir. Come on, it’s a stupid law and you know it. We wouldn’t even have to be in this backwater place if they didn’t ban the stuff in the first place.”

Riza grabbed the wine from his hands and set it aside on the coffee table pointedly. “If you dislike this town so much, it would be wise to not get yourself _arrested_ before we leave.”

Roy sighed, crossing his arms and slouching his shoulders. “Spoilsport.”

“Was that everything?” she asked in a clipped tone.

He wondered if it was a leading question before deciding that he didn’t care, he’d follow it up the same way whether it was or not. He smiled and stepped closer to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Not quite,” he teased, before leaning in to kiss her. Kissing her was still so new, and every time he pressed his lips against hers, he could _almost_ hear his teenage-self – the boy who was adamant that he didn’t have a thing for his teacher’s daughter –  whisper an awe-struck ‘ _holy shit’_ in the back of his mind.

He started off gently, waiting for her reaction. She was annoyed with him only seconds ago, and he knew that she was just as likely to push him away as she was to kiss him back.

Thankfully, she chose the latter, and he could feel the irritation melt from her as she raised her arms to lay the flat of her palms on his chest. He deepened the kiss, pulling her closer to him until her elbows were jabbing into his stomach. When his tongue found hers, he sighed contentedly. It was warm and soft and although he had been hoping to taste the fine vintage he brought with him, he was not going to complain about sampling the fruity tea she had been drinking on the train. He never cared for tea, but he always enjoyed tasting it on her.

They pulled apart, both slightly short of breath, and he smiled down at her.

“We shouldn’t,” she admonished weakly.

He bit back a chuckle. So, this was how she wanted to play it. Most of the time –  in the rare instances that they got some time alone – Riza wasn’t shy about doing what she wanted with him, to him. But sometimes she needed a little convincing, and he was more than happy to indulge her.

“We’re in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. Nobody knows who we are and nobody cares. When do we get chances like this? We’ve practically been handed an all-expenses-paid vacation.”

“It’s not a vacation, si- _Roy_. It’s a job. We agreed we wouldn’t do anything… untoward while we were on a job.”

He shook his head, biting back a laugh at the description of their sex life as ‘untoward’. “Technically, we don’t start until tomorrow evening. HQ will see two hotel rooms on the docket. They won’t know if one of us isn’t in our own room.” He waggled his eyebrows for good measure.

She sighed again, but Roy could see the sparkle in her eye as she suppressed a smile. He won this round, but she was never going to outright admit that she was counting on him to win.

“I suppose you can stay. But tomorrow night, you’re sleeping in your own room.”

“Only if you come with,” he purred.

“I’m serious, Roy.”

“Who says I’m not? You’d like it, it has a huge bath. Plenty of space for two.”

She rolled her eyes, but changed the subject. He supposed he’d have to play the same little game of convincing her tomorrow.

“I was browsing through the dossier before you arrived. Go get your bedclothes and I’ll arrange the files for review.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “We’re off the clock, Riza. And in any case…” his voice dropped a half-octave as he looked at her with intent. “I wasn’t planning on wearing any bedclothes tonight.” He pulled aside the loose collar of her nightshirt and planted a slow, open-mouthed kiss on her shoulder.

She disentangled herself from him, turning towards the enclave where the bed was situated, grasping his wrist and leading him towards it. “Fine. Come on.”

He frowned. “Don’t sound so excited,” he grumbled under his breath, following her. “Oh, and for the love of God, _do not_ wake me up at 8am.”

“That’s the beginning of the working day,” she replied simply.

“We can’t _do_ any work until the evening.”

“We still have to go over the strategy.”

As they approached the foot of the bed, he pulled at the wrist she was holding, jolting her backwards towards him and wrapping his arms around her from behind. He rested his cheek against hers.

“What’s there to go over? You get dressed up in that slinky little number you packed.” He emphasized his point by running his hands suggestively down the sides of her waist, before grabbing her hips and pulling them back to rub against his. “We hit the jazz club, do some dancing…” He swayed her gently. “Drink a little illegal moonshine, find out who the supplier is and trace the cartel that runs it.”

He ground her hips against him again, bringing his mouth directly to her ear and lowering his voice. “Then we head back to my room and pop open that bottle of wine you so rudely refused. While the bath is running, I get to work on taking you _out_ of your dress...”

She turned in his arms and wrapped her hands around his neck, smiling. “There are a lot more intricacies to discuss.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to elaborate? _Well_ , I was thinking I’d start by moving the straps off your shoulder…”

She swatted his arm in reprimand, but threw her head back with a soft laugh as well. He took the opportunity to kiss the column of her throat.

“I’m serious though. Once we’re in that bed, we’re _not_ leaving it before noon tomorrow.”

She smiled at him demurely. “Is that an order, _sir_?” she purred. He groaned as he swooped his head down to steal another kiss, gently biting her bottom lip before he released her.

“You have to stop calling me sir when we’re alone,” He whined. “It’s beginning to cause problems at work.”

She grabbed onto the front of his shirt as she eased backwards onto the bed, dragging him willfully on top of her. Pulling the back of his neck down for another kiss, she began unbuttoning his shirt.

He smiled against her lips as he fumbled with the belt of his pants. They rarely got this kind of time alone together, and he planned on savoring every moment. And this time, there would be no sneaking away before the sun rose or hiding in the bathroom because of an unexpected visitor. He briefly wondered how suspicious it would look if he requested to be assigned all out-of-town missions from now on.

 


	5. Day 5: Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really curious about how Rebecca and Riza became such close friends, so I wrote a piece about that. Roy isn't in it, but hopefully there's enough Royai pondering to make up for it? 
> 
> Also, I only added yesterday's story this morning, so you may have missed it. Be sure to check that you've read the last chapter based off of the prompt "Temperance". It is an established-relationship piece, so it has far more action than my other pieces have!
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for your support! Not long left in the week, so I hope you'll stick with me!

When Riza heard the door open, she pulled her textbook closer to her face as she prepared for the onslaught of cheeriness that was about to occur.

“I’m baaaaack!” came a chirpy voice, and she winced at the high pitch. “And guess what I brought with me?”

_Please don’t say a guy_ , Riza thought as she lowered her book to face her dormmate.

The dark-haired woman shook a bottle of vodka side to side, smiling brightly. “That nice guy Brian smuggled some in for me!” she explained. “I’ll get two glasses.”

“I’m studying,” Riza muttered.

“You’re _always_ studying. Come on, have a little fun with me before we break for the holidays!”

Riza sighed. She had been at the Academy for a little over three months, and she had the misfortune to be assigned a dorm with one Rebecca Catalina. She tried to stay as unnoticeable and antisocial as possible, ignoring the young woman to the point of being outright rude, but Rebecca never seemed to get the message. She cheerily chatted about anything and everything, seemingly oblivious to whether or not Riza was listening. Riza staunchly refused every offer to hang out with her and some classmates, or let her do her makeup, or play a game of cards, but Rebecca didn’t seem deterred in the slightest. She continued to chatter and call Riza by pet names and shower her in compliments, completely clueless.

Even now, Rebecca sat on Riza’s bed, pushing her gently out of the way to make room. Riza set her book aside and collected her limbs. She decided to indulge the young curly-haired woman this one time, if only because she was sure that if she didn’t move, Rebecca would just sit on top of her.

Rebecca handed her a glass half-filled with clear liquid, and Riza’s nose pinched at the smell. She took the glass but didn’t take a sip. Rebecca threw her head back as she took a gulp, draining half the liquid in one go.

“God I’m so glad our break starts tomorrow! No offense to you, you’re _perfect_ , but I’m not used to sharing a room with someone and I can NOT wait to have a room of my own for a while.”

_Me neither_ , Riza thought dryly, but she muttered a polite “I understand.”

“It’ll be nice to get a little time alone in between family stuff. So what about you, what are your plans for the holidays?”

Riza shrugged.

“Going home?”

She shook her head.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Then where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“WHAT?” Rebecca screeched. “Babe, this is the first time we get more than a few days off! Don’t you miss your family? Your friends?”

Riza stared at the drink in her hand. She really didn’t want to have to explain her whole family situation. Where would she begin? _Oh, my mom died when I was very young and my dad spent most of his life obsessed with alchemy instead of taking care of me, before he died too. When they got married, they cut off all contact with their families, so I might have family but I have no way of finding out. Because my dad was insane, I took care of him. People thought I was weird so I never made any friends or got close to anybody until… Until…_

Riza swallowed thickly, the liquid in her glass swirling as her hand trembled ever-so-slightly.

Rebecca picked up on the silence, her face softening. “Let’s talk about something else! So, Brian says if I ever need more booze, I should just come to him and…”

Rebecca continued to chatter on, but Riza wasn’t listening. This time though, she wasn’t trying to ignore her. Instead, she was trying to keep the image of a scruffy-haired boy from her mind. Rebecca’s ability to talk without an audience was of great benefit to her right now, and Riza, for the first time since they met, found herself thankful for Rebecca’s chattiness. She contemplated Rebecca’s reaction to her silence. For someone who loved to talk and was completely clueless about boundaries, Riza wasn’t sure Rebecca understood the kindness she’d done by changing the subject. She felt a pang of guilt for her coldness towards her dormmate. She decided to repay the kindness in the only way she could think of.

Riza took the glass to her lips and took all the liquid in it in one hard swallow. The stuff burned her throat and heated her entire midsection, and Riza winced at the sensation, holding back a gag. She regarded the empty glass like it had betrayed her.

She realized that Rebecca had stopped talking, so she looked up from the glass to regard her. Her face was the epitome of pure glee, eyes wide and smile even wider.

“Finally! The sexy, repressed bookworm succumbs to my charms!” she gushed, nudging Riza’s shoulder with her own. Rebecca’s smile must have been infectious, because Riza could feel her own lips twitch into a smile of her own; small, but completely genuine.

 

* * *

 

 

The bottle of vodka was just over half-empty, and Riza wasn’t sure if she was feeling lightheaded because of her contribution to draining it, or because she was laughing so hard at Rebecca’s anecdote, about the time she flirted with one of her drill sergeants and he was so scandalized that he missed his target when he was supposed to be teaching the cadets about aim.

“You didn’t seriously have a crush on Sergeant Drake, did you?” she asked through gasping laughter.

“Ew! Of course not!” Rebecca wrinkled her nose at the thought before shrugging. “But that doesn’t mean a girl can’t have a little fun.”

 Riza caught her breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Ask away, babe.”

Riza paused for a moment, considering how to phrase her question. “Why do you… act like that? You’re obviously very capable. But you come across as…”

“Ditzy?” Rebecca inquired. Riza blushed, feeling guilty for asking.

“I didn’t mean…”

“Relax, cutie. I know what people think.” Rebecca smiled reassuringly. “It’s a boy’s club here. I’m never going to be treated well just because I’m capable. If I can use my particular assets to get what I want…” She shrugged. “Women get treated like shit here. If my femininity scores me some free booze or a little fun, I’ll take it.”

Riza frowned. “But aren’t you worried that you’re giving women soldiers a bad name?”

Rebecca laughed. “Babe, I’m not about to work three times harder just to be treated with the same amount of respect as some guy who’s barely scraping through training. That’s not helping female soldiers, it’s just pandering to the male ones. And we can’t all be _you_ , with you’re A-plus-plus grades and your freakish devotion to King and Country.”

Riza dropped her gaze to the floor. She had no devotion to Amestris, although she could see why Rebecca would think she did. She spent most of her time studying or practicing drills. She was striving to be the very best soldier she could be, but not out of any sense of duty to the Führer. She didn’t try to fool herself over the real reason she was here. She suddenly felt very silly. It was wrong of her to dismiss Rebecca because of her girlishness and her boy-crazy attitude, especially since the only reason Riza joined the military in the first place was because of a boy.

“Besides,” Rebecca continued, refilling their glasses. “I’m not planning on being in the military for the rest of my life.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. I’m going to trick some rich shmuck into marrying me and retire at thirty,” she said, smiling conspiratorially.

Riza grinned at her dormmate’s answer. “That’s a very dangerous plan. You could be killed in battle in your twenties.”

Rebecca shook her head confidently. “Like you said, I’m very capable. I’ll get through whatever shit the military throws at me, then I’ll dump it faster than I dumped Greg after he showed me his crappy poetry.”

“Greg? Cadet Winston?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Oh God, _babe_ , it was TERRIBLE.”

 

* * *

 

 

Riza swallowed the last of the vodka down slowly. It dripped sluggishly down her throat, and the burn that it brought earlier in the night didn’t come.

Rebecca had quietened at some point in the night. She was still chatty and smiling, but she was talking in a lower voice, slower, her words slurring every now and then. She had curled up to Riza’s side, resting her head on her shoulder. Her arm felt refreshingly cool under Riza’s. And given her demeanor, she was happily soaking up Riza’s warmth. Hot and cold, polar opposites, benefiting from each other. Riza supposed there was probably a metaphor in there somewhere.

“Hmm. We should do this more often,” Rebecca slurred.

Riza twitched her nose as some of Rebecca’s curly hair tickled it. “That would be inab- inadvisable,” Riza managed, barely, to say the word correctly. Rebecca laughed softly.

“No really, babe. You never let yourself have fun. You should come with me next time I go to a hang-out. You could let loose, get to know people...” Rebecca lifted her head and smiled. “Maybe meet a guy…”

Riza frowned. She had no intention of meeting any guys in the way that Rebecca was inferring. Not in the Academy. It was unprofessional, juvenile, not to mention risky. If things didn’t work out, she would still be training with the person for the rest of her time at the Academy. Very ill-advised.

And in any case…

Rebecca gasped, pulling Riza from her thoughts. She looked like a light has just switched on in her brain.

“ _You already have a guy!_ ” she whispered, awe-struck.

“What? No I don’t!” Riza retorted. A wide grin crept slowly across Rebecca’s face, and Riza realized, too late, how defensive her answer sounded.

“You do! Oh please, honey, spill!” Rebecca shifted until she was facing Riza head-on, imprisoning he with her stare. “I never get to talk about boys!” Riza raised an eyebrow and Rebecca rolled her eyes in response. “Okay _fine_! I talk about boys a lot, but I never get to _hear_ about them! What’s he like?”

The earnest curiosity in her face stunned Riza. She realized that the reason she has always tried to shy away from Rebecca was because Rebecca had a knack for making her the center of attention, and Riza wasn’t used to being the subject of such intense focus. Except… Except for when Mister Mustang was around. She smiled internally, knowing that he would wince if he knew she still thought of him as Mister Mustang. He always hated the stuffiness of using titles, constantly begging her to call him by his first name.

_Roy_.

How could she answer Rebecca’s question? How could she encompass Roy Mustang in only a few words? She would need a lifetime to describe him, and even then, she wasn’t sure she would do him justice. In her drunken state, she allowed herself the luxury of trying.

_He’s the first boy I ever spent much time with. He arrived when I needed him most, like he knew I was just a sad, lonely little girl. Like he only existed to come when he did, and to keep me company. I didn’t want to be his friend, but he was patient and he kept trying and he gave me my space when I needed it, and suddenly I wasn’t able to remember what it was like without him. He taught me all kinds of things about places I’d never been to. He taught me how to laugh again, with his goofy grins and his dumb jokes, and he always looked so pleased with himself when he managed to make me laugh._

_He would watch me while I studied in the same room as him and would bury his head in his textbook again when I scolded him for slacking. But a few minutes later, he’d be watching me again. He listened to me when I talked about school and he actually cared what I had to say. He’s the only man I was ever half-naked around, and that’s not even the most personal part of that story. He wants to make the world better, and I believe that he will. You were wrong to say I have a guy. He’s not mine. But I am his, and I always will be, until the day I die. He is my motivation, my reason for being here. He is everything to me._

She settled for: “He’s… very nice.”

She expected Rebecca to pout at the lack of information, but Rebecca still looked awe-struck. Riza hoped it was because she was too drunk to control her face properly, but the sparkle in Rebecca’s eyes unnerved her, like she could read every single one of Riza’s thoughts as if she had said them out loud. Then suddenly, as if something inside her broke, her face sobered and her brow furrowed in anger.

“You know what? No.”

Riza’s face scrunched in confusion as Rebecca suddenly sprang from the bed, walking resolutely to the far corner of the room. “What?”

Rebecca ignored her, continuing to march to her destination. Picking up the phone in the corner of the room, she began to turn the wheel, choosing her numbers as she leaned sloppily against the wall.

“Rebecca, that’s a bad idea!” Riza called out. She didn’t know much about social etiquette, but she knew that it was very late, and she had read enough books to know that calling someone while drunk rarely ended well.

“Shh! It’s ringing.”

Riza didn’t have the energy to argue, she just slumped back in her bed, confused.

“Hello, mom? Well, put mom on the phone… Mom, hey, I just want- well you’re awake now! I AM NOT DRUNK! O… okay, okay!... Listen, I’m _just_ letting you know that I’ll be bringing someone home for the holidays… Riza... That’s because it _is_ a girl’s name… What? No, I already said she’s a friend!... She can stay in my room… yes, mom, a _friend_ …  Okay. Yep… Thanks Mom… Okay… Love you too… Okay bye.” Rebecca hung up the phone and walked, calmer now, back towards Riza’s bed.

Riza stared at her, panic rising up her chest as the words registered in her foggy mind. “You didn’t have to-”

“No. _No_!” Rebecca chided loudly, pointing an accusatory finger at her as she stood beside the bed, towering over her. “You’re amazing and smart and really, _really_ pretty and I will NOT let you spend _two weeks_ in this place alone! Mom is expecting you now, she’ll pick us up tomorrow and you will spend the holidays _among people_!” Rebecca’s tone was final.

Riza’s eyes widened. “It’s too short notice for your mom. And for me, I haven’t packed anything!”

Rebecca waved a hand dismissively. “Neither have I. We’ll pack tomorrow.”

She stared up at the curly-haired woman, the woman that – not more than a few hours ago – she despaired at being around. She grasped at one more straw. “You said you wanted a room to yourself for the holidays. To spend some time alone.”

Rebecca’s sharp glare softened into a smile. “I’d rather spend it with a friend?” she said gently, inflecting the end of the sentence so it sounded more like a question than a statement.

_Friend_. Riza considered the word. Even in her drunken condition, the word sounded clear in her mind; fitting. She answered by returning the smile and muttering a quiet “thank you”.

Rebecca climbed back into Riza’s bed, lying down and wrapping the covers around her before snuggling into Riza. Riza could see Rebecca’s own empty bed over her shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to sleep. Get used to it, babe. I only have one bed at home.”

Riza opened her mouth to respond, but her answer died in her throat as Rebecca snuggled closer to her, closing her eyes and relaxing her muscles. Instead, Riza looked down at her. Rebecca was in so many ways the polar opposite of her. She was loud and took up space and she was giddy and cheerful and everything Riza wasn’t. Riza adjusted to lie down more comfortably and let the quiet night wash over her, lulling her to sleep. Rebecca was many things, but she was also kind.

That was all that really mattered, she supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebecca is the lady version of Hughes
> 
> Change my mind.


	6. Day 6: Seasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bloomsday everyone! Have an extra-long, fluff-filled chapter to celebrate!
> 
> I decided that since Arakawa mentioned that there is no FMA equivalent to Valentine's Day, I would make one up. This takes the name and date of one holiday (Bloomsday) and many of the traditions of another (Valentine's) and makes a hopefully coherent holiday specifically tailored to the Fullmetal Alchemist universe. I really hope it makes sense!
> 
> Also, this chapter is subject to editing, because I had literally no time to edit it today.

Roy’s love life varied vastly depending on what time of the year it was.

Autumn had the benefit of the harvest. Fresh produce was being sold at relatively good prices all through the city, making it the season in which people began to pine for home-made meals. Roy would host dinner at his own house instead of a restaurant, impressing women with his barely-above-adequate cooking skills (he knows how to make two meals well, but with his kind of dating life, women rarely stuck around to discover he couldn’t make a third). This arrangement eliminated the middle-man of trying to coax someone back to his place after a date.

Winter was usually a bit of a dry-spell, although not completely barren. Roy tended to be cautious in the late autumn and early winter, knowing that many were preparing for what was deemed “cuddle-season”. It was time for finding someone to snuggle with on dark, cold nights. Roy had nothing against snuggling, but he preferred it in a far more temporary capacity than winter lovers were propositioning. And he was well sought-out in winter. Women suspected his particular breed of alchemy would translate to body-heat as well, as if they were snagging an accomplished lover and a radiator rolled into one. Roy’s dating life was like navigating a mine-field in the cold months, trying to emit his patented exuberant charm without promising _too much_.

Spring was a different story altogether. Once cuddle-season was over, people who were in relationships strictly for the winter were suddenly free and single again, looking to have some fun before seeking out another serious relationship. Roy was more than happy to be that kind of fun, and so his spring nights were filled with the kind of promises he could keep. Springtime had the least amount of chase in it, and whilst sometimes Roy missed the game and the thrill that the chase provided, he was mostly too busy with other activities to miss it _too_ much. The weather got warmer, winter layers were being peeled off and when he would bring women home, he would help peel off the rest of the layers.

Summer was perhaps his favorite season. Summer dresses in bright colors swept through the city, like beautiful wildflowers growing out of concrete and cobblestone. Bare arms, bare legs, beads of sweat rolling down the valleys of exposed cleavage, what more could a man ask for? Summer was beautiful because women were beautiful and they were free to show off their beauty a little more in the summer. The summer weather also gave way for starting conversations with strangers (“quite a heat wave we’re having, huh?”), and Roy could always pop in a loaded joke about how he’s able to handle the heat. Tourists would visit the city for a few days before visiting rural towns, making for perfect fleeting courtships (“Well, if your hotel isn’t up to scratch, I have quite a nice apartment close to the train station”). There was just enough chase – just enough flirting and skirting around the inevitable tumble into cold sheets on hot skin – to fill the long evenings before the reward was collected at night. Roy Mustang loved everything about summer.

With one exception.

There was a national holiday on June 16th every year, one which irked Roy for reasons he didn’t quite wish to vocalize. The holiday was called Bloomsday, and it was celebrated with all of the commercial vigor that new-ish holidays are usually flooded with.

Officially, Bloomsday was simply the day in which to celebrate the blossoming roses throughout the country. It was an unassuming holiday, one which was never really given much thought for years, until about six years ago, when Führer Bradley told a story in a radio interview that completely changed the meaning of the holiday.

The story goes like this: When Bradley was single, he pined after future-Mrs. Bradley from afar for months. One Bloomsday, deciding to take a small chance, he picked some barely-blossomed roses from the national gardens (which was illegal, Bradley reminded the audience with a sheepish laugh) and lay them at the spot by the fountain where he knew she went to eat lunch every day. He was too nervous to stick around and see if she received them, but later that evening, he saw her walking through the streets with one of the roses in her hair. He gathered up all of his courage and approached her, introducing himself as the man who left her the roses.

“And the rest is history,” he concluded with a chuckle.

People love a romantic story, and so when Bloomsday approached again that year, the national gardens were picked clean of their roses, men trying to recreate the romantic gesture for their own paramours. The next year, the gardens were closed to the public to try and stop the vandalism, but undeterred, men simply bought flowers or gifts and used the day as an excuse to begin romancing whomever they had been admiring.

And the rest, as King Bradley would say, is history.

The holiday became commodified to the point of absurdity. The new tradition was to leave flowers and gifts for the person you admired and at the end of the day, if you saw that person with your flower in their hair, it would be the perfect excuse to approach them. Restaurants jacked their prices up to make some money off of the last-minute dates, and in the week running up to the holiday, you couldn’t buy a box of chocolates that weren’t shaped like hearts or roses or didn’t cost extortionate amounts of money. But that wasn’t quite the reason for Roy’s irritability with the holiday.

Roy was already too hot and annoyed from the summer sun by the time he approached the office. Before entering, he could see a sign on the door of the outer office. It read, in large and neat handwriting:

 **PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE FLOWERS**  
**CO-WORKER HAS ALLERGIES**  
**THANK YOU**

Judging by the sound of Fuery’s miserable sneezes on the other side of the door, the note had not worked.

Roy opened the door and saw the florist that had crashed into his office.

“Nobody read the note?” he asked wryly.

“It doesn’t seem like it,” responded the flowers. After a few seconds, Hawkeye’s face popped out from between a few huge bouquets on her desk. The flowers were of all different types and colors; another new tradition rather than the roses that started it all off. This was for the men to differentiate which flowers belonged to them and which belonged to other pursuers. If a woman left with a flower in her hair, the man who bought it would be able to tell it was his, and would then decide whether or not to reveal the secret to the woman.

Hawkeye looked just as irritated as he did. She blew an errand strand of hair from her face. Hawkeye had been growing her hair out. It now reached her shoulders, and in the past few days it had grown long enough to tie back. She used rubber bands because she had never needed to buy hair ties before, so she didn’t have any lying around. Today, however, she wore it down, and some strands stuck to the nape of her neck with sweat.

“Some people must have read it, it’s a lot less than last year,” quipped Havoc from his desk.

“It’s only 9am. Give it time,” Roy sighed, before being interrupted by a particularly loud sneeze.

Poor Fuery. The man miserably tinkered with some equipment from his desk, eyes red and starting to swell even though he was as far away from Hawkeye’s desk as he could possibly be in this room.

“Fuery, why don’t you take that to the basement? It’s cooler down there anyway, and I doubt Sergeant Wilkinson has been receiving entire gardens.”

Fuery wheezed out a quiet “Yes, sir,” before picking up his equipment and tools and skulking out of the office. Hawkeye shot him an apologetic look as he passed.

“This can’t keep happening,” she said solemnly when he left.

“Have you tried being less approachable and covering yourself up more?” Havoc jibed sarcastically. Hawkeye didn’t even flinch at the insult, instead working on sorting through the gifts on her desk to make room. Among the boxes of chocolates, which were probably melted in the heat, there were some more personal gifts. Roy spotted dog treats, walnut oil for her guns and a plain, inexpensive watch. As she shifted things around, she created a space barely big enough for her paperwork, darkened by the shadows of long-stemmed flowers looming in the space above.

“I am going to speak to the General. It’s impossible to get any work done on Bloomsday and some kind of policy needs to be put in place.”

Breda snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that.” He was right; Bloomsday didn’t really affect men, so the majority of people weren’t inconvenienced. And while Grumman was usually sympathetic to his granddaughter’s gripes, he loved Bloomsday. Besides, it was practically a holiday to celebrate the Führer’s first date with the First Lady, so making a move to forbid it in the workplace would look like a soft treason. Grumman was a bit of an upstart, but he wasn’t going to tank his career over something so silly.

As Hawkeye left on her futile mission, Roy crossed his arm and faced the three remaining men in the office.

“A lot of those gifts seem a little too personal to be from some lovesick cadets,” he accused in a low voice. “Exactly how many of you have been sneaking the Lieutenant gifts?”

The men looked between each other, with furrowed brows. They didn’t look nervous or guilty, as Roy expected them to be. They just looked confused.

Eventually, Breda spoke up. “You haven’t?”

Roy bit the inside of his cheek, maintaining as much composure as possible.

“This is incredibly unprofessional-”

“Oh relax, boss,” Havoc interrupted. “She’s not going to end the day with gun oil in her hair. We’re not looking for dates.”

Now it was Roy’s turn to look confused.

“The Lieutenant is very important to the running of the office. She’s rather invaluable. We wished to show her some appreciation,” Falman explained.

“Yeah, and this is the day to do it,” Havoc continued. “Even Fuery got her something. This way, she can’t be sure it’s us, so she can’t yell at us for wasting money or whatever.”

Roy considered this for a moment.

“Clever,” he conceded.

Breda smiled. “To be honest boss, we just assumed you were doing the same thing. For the same reason, of course.”

Of course.

Roy didn’t care for Breda’s tone, but decided to let it slide as he walked into his own office.

Removing his jacket and letting the cool air hit him, the smell of flowers began to fade away from his nostrils. He considered the men’s approach to gifts. It really was rather clever. A way to show Hawkeye appreciation without giving away their identities. Hawkeye wasn’t a fan of gifts, so this was really the only acceptable day to give them, with the benefit of anonymity. He looked at his pocket watch. 09:11 am. Maybe before lunch, he could brainstorm some ideas and pop out to buy something small during his break.

 

* * *

 

 

Shortly after lunch, Roy could hear two familiar voices as they entered the outer office. He sighed. This was the last thing he needed today.

Roy exited his office to see Ed sitting in Fuery’s desk, with Al towering behind him. They were the only ones in the room. Fuery was ordered to spend the rest of the day anywhere else, and Falman was sent to work with him and keep him company. Breda and Havoc were in the records office fetching some files, and Hawkeye had taken a late lunch, so she hadn’t yet returned.

“Fullmetal. I didn’t send for you.” He didn’t have to say _What are you doing here_ , his tone implied it strongly enough.

“Yeah, well don’t worry, we’re not here for you. So you can go back to napping on your desk,” Ed replied irritably.

“We’re here to see the Lieutenant!” came Al’s upbeat voice, echoing from the suit of armor.

Roy scrunched his face in confusion. “The Lieutenant? Hawkeye?”

Speak of the devil. The Lieutenant entered the office, face obscured by a curtain of hair as she looked down at the files in her arms. When she raised her head, she pushed her hair behind her ears and regarded the two boys with a smile.

“Edward. Alphonse.”

“Happy Bloomsday Lieutenant!” Al chirped enthusiastically, approaching her and presenting what appeared to be a small bouquet.

On closer inspection, the bouquet was made from paper. Alchemy, Roy supposed.

“We had real flowers, but we saw the sign, so we whipped up something last-minute,” Al explained. “I hope you like them!”

Riza smiled fondly at the gift. “Thank you, both of you. But you do know that the recipient is not supposed to know the identity of the person giving the gift, yes?”

Ed waved a hand dismissively, still seated on Fuery’s chair, feet on the desk and crossed at the ankles.

“We thought we’d let you know so you wouldn’t put it in your hair. We didn’t want you waiting for someone to see it and ask you out, since that wouldn’t happen,” he said nonchalantly, although Roy could see the beginnings of a blush creep up the kid’s cheeks. If it weren’t for the fact that Hawkeye would kill him, Roy would have made some kind of remark to rile the young alchemist up.

“That’s very kind Edward. Thank you. And how long will you be staying this time?”

“Just passing through, we got a lead to follow up in a town near Central. Actually, we better get going. Come on Al.” Ed got up and walked towards the door. “Bye Lieutenant,” he called. He shot Mustang a glare but did not say any farewell.

“Bye Lieutenant! Bye Colonel!” Al said enthusiastically, following his brother out of the room.

Hawkeye looked down at the paper flowers fondly for another moment, before turning towards her desk. When she saw it, she froze, shoulders tightening, before letting out an irritated huff.

Whatever space Hawkeye had managed to make for herself was long gone. More flowers and boxes had been unceremoniously dumped on her desk, spilling over with greenery and candies. She ran a hand through her hair.

“Apologies, Sir. I will have this cleaned up as soon as possible.”

Roy smiled. “Not your fault, Lieutenant. You can’t help it if more than a few guys try their luck.”

He returned to his own office. From his desk, he could see hers, and he watched her scan the desk again before getting to work on tidying it. She rifled through flowers and presents with the same efficiency as she shows in every other aspect of her life. She began opening gifts and doing an inventory on what she received and how best to get rid of it.

He scowled when he saw a particularly garish necklace with flower-shaped charms. He hated to be reminded of the popularity Hawkeye had with the other sex. Men were usually smart enough not to make a show of themselves around her by asking her out, knowing that she would shut that crap down as soon as they tried. But today, they could shower her in gifts behind the cowardice of tradition. Every year, he had to shoo young soldiers away from hovering outside the office, or rescue his men when they get accosted and interrogated about what kind of candy she likes, or bite his tongue as they walked the corridors, seeing what seemed to be every man in HQ try their best to appear nonchalant whilst their eyes obsessively scanned her hair for a flower. Their flower, most likely.

He’s been tempted in the past to order her to take the day off, just so as he didn’t have to spend the day fighting back the urge to pull her close to him and yell at anyone who was looking at her with a touch too much intent. It wasn’t like she got much work done anyway, despite her best intentions. Maybe he should also chat to Grumman, really try to reinforce the idea that this holiday was bad for productivity.

He stirred from his thoughts when he saw her open a black box and freeze in surprise. The widening of her eyes was the only thing she gave away. No smile, no frown, no indication of whether or not she liked the object inside. He would usually try to ignore her inventory-taking on Bloomsday, but he had a vested interest in that particular box, given that he was the one to put it there before lunch had finished. Finally accepting that he wasn’t going to see a reaction from her, he decided on a different approach.

He strolled as casually as he could back into the outer office, rifling through Havoc’s desk and picking up a pen, as if that were his only reason for returning. By the time he turned back to face her desk, she had put down the gift and continued tidying.

“Making progress, I see,” he remarked as she began throwing boxes of chocolates into the trash.

“Yes, sir.”

He approached her desk, rubbing one of the flowers between his thumb and pointer finger. “These are pretty hard to get. You have quite the admirers, Lieutenant.”

She continued busying around the desk, sorting through gifts.

He ventured further. “Any of the flowers take your liking?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

“I mean have you decided which ones you’re going to use to put in your hair?”

“Yes, sir.”

His heart dropped.

“Oh. Which ones, then?”

“None of them, sir.”

He suppressed a sigh of relief, masking it with a chuckle instead. “Come on, Lieutenant. You’ve been getting entire florist’s shops for years now and I’ve never seen you leave with a flower in your hair.”

“And yet nobody seems to take the hint,” she murmured under her breath.

He laughed. “You should try it, this one year! It’s a free dinner at the very least,” he teased. “And who knows, one of these flowers could belong to the future Mr. Hawkeye.”

She fixed him with a glare, partially obscured by her hair. “I rather doubt that, sir.”

“Well, you’ll never know unless you try.”

“Well then I guess I’ll never know.”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from her, but her answer was particularly Hawkeye-esque. He moved his attention to the boxes on the table.

“What about the gifts? It seems like such a waste, throwing all of them away.” He used the pen in his hand to pick up the necklace that had offended him so much a few minutes ago and regarded it with mild disgust.

“… Perhaps not _all_ of them, sir.”

His eyes darted to hers, and hers looked away sheepishly. “Oh?”

“Yes, sir. It seems that some of my suiters have considered my preference to function over form.”

He smirked. “So you’ll keep the functional ones then?”

“I think so, sir. As you implied, it would be a shame to waste the more resourceful gifts.” She was still looking away, and after a brief clearing of her throat, she cleared some more boxes until she had enough room to work with. She sat down at her desk and began looking over the files she had brought in from lunch.

“Yes, a shame,” was all he said. After a moment, knowing that she was finished with the conversation, he straightened up and turned to leave.

 

* * *

 

 

Roy tended to work late on Bloomsday. He never managed to finish on time, especially when he was too busy internally griping about all of the attentions his adjutant was receiving. This year was no different. And after the incident at 3pm, in which Officer Bates walked into the office and asked as innocuously as he could whether or not she received any dahlias, Roy had slugged through the paperwork with all the concentration of a goldfish.

As the sun began to set, he lifted his head when he heard his office door open.

She marched in, as professional as ever, and stood to attention on the other side of his desk. He evaluated her for a moment. Her crisp uniform, her expressionless face, her hair…

“Permission to leave, sir.”

He smiled. “You’re looking… tidier.”

Her eyes glittered as she responded with a proficient “Yes sir.”

He waved her away. “Granted. Have a good night, Lieutenant.”

“You too, sir.”

As she turned to leave, he rested his head on his arms and watched her. She was going to break a lot of hearts this evening. Dozens of men were going to look at her hair, note the absence of a flower and slump their shoulders in disappointment. Roy imagines seas of men with crestfallen pouts.

But when he looked at her hair and saw it tied back with a brand-new clip – simple, unostentatious, _functional_ – he could only smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know many people like to think that Roy only dates as a front for gathering intel, but in my head he is a horn-dog who is also a hypocrite when it comes to Riza. 
> 
> This chapter had a lot of explanations and made-up stuff so if you have any questions, ask away and I'll try to clear things up!


	7. Day 7: Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, the prompt "Secrets" is such a broad one with these two! Everything about them is secrets! I wanted to end this week on something cute and featuring an introspective Roy, and I really hope you all like it! This and chapter 4 (Temperance) are the only established relationship fics I've done, but I really enjoyed writing both of them so I may do more in the future.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has made it this far. Your support means the world to me and I have loved every minute of this week. I will be doing more Royai fics in the future, so if you like these, keep your eyes peeled! Happy Royai Week 2018 everyone, it's been a great one.

Roy took a calming breath, stilling the excited tremor of his fingers, and turned the key in the lock. He made note of the slight resistance that he had expected (“you have to wiggle it a little”) before it gave way to a smooth rotation, clicking open and slipping the door slightly ajar. Paperwork in one hand, key in the other, he stepped inside.

It was a small occasion, but one he internally recorded anyway. The first time he used his spare key on Hawkeye’s door. He’s had the key since she moved in, and had briefly worried that its daily place in his pocket along with its neglect of use would morph it into something that wouldn’t quite work. When he switched on the lights into her kitchen, he felt a brief sense of relief.

Of course it would work, keys don’t melt in the heat of coats. And in any case, everything about Riza and him worked; their ethics, their dreams, their jobs. And now their relationship, which was relatively new yet built on something much older. Years of brief touches and stolen glances and sheer proximity created the layers upon layers of dirt and soil, preparing for the greenery that was now beginning to grow.

Two months since he first kissed her, shortly after regaining his sight, when he couldn’t think of any reason in the world good enough to stop him. Six weeks since they first made love, on the day she was released from hospital, slowly and gently (and against doctor's orders) so as not to open wounds old and new. Three weeks since he finally convinced her to leave some clothes in his apartment, and he emptied a drawer for her shirts and pants, and cleared enough closet space for a women’s small Amestrian military uniform. Four days since she admitted, with pink cheeks, that his shirt was more comfortable to sleep in than her pajamas. Seventeen seconds since he first used his key to her apartment.

He smiled as he heard the patter of tiny paws, nails gently clinking against the hardwood floor. Hayate greeted him with a lolling tongue and a wagging tail. He squatted down, using his free hand to pat the canine’s head, and having received the greeting, Hayate trotted to his bowl, looking between it and Roy intermittently.

Roy took the hint and opened the cupboard, finding the kibble and emptying a portion into the bowl. He was still cradling paperwork in one arm, so the resulting pour was messy. The Shiba Inu ate the bits that spilled onto the ground first, before happily munching at the contents of his bowl, ignoring his new visitor.

Roy stepped into the small living room and put his paperwork onto the desk in the corner, settling himself in the metal chair and opening up one of the many files labelled ‘URGENT’.

About twenty minutes later, he heard the faint sound of the front door opening again. “Roy?”

“In here,” he called to the familiar voice.

He heard her patter about the kitchen, likely putting away groceries. “Did you feed Hayate?”

“Yep.”

“How’s the paperwork coming along?”

“Not bad,” he called. He had brought more home than she would have been pleased with, but he didn’t want to stay in the office to complete it. Not on a Wednesday, the one day a week he got to spend the night at her place. She spent Saturdays at his, and he hadn’t been able to convince her yet that a couple more days a week wouldn’t be too big a risk. Their relationship was new, but it was also a secret still, and would have to remain as such until they figured something out. It wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be. Any time with her was a blessing, and he wasn’t about to risk sabotaging it by getting too greedy. And even if he was prepared to throw caution to the wind, she wouldn’t allow it.

Sounds continued to emanate from the kitchen as Riza prepared dinner. She cooked in her own home and he cooked in his, although he knew he’d have to learn some more recipes soon. Her palate would only endure so much pasta before he’d be banned from cooking completely. A few minutes later, she called out again.

“Dinner’s in the oven, I’ll be back before it’s done,” and then, in a lower voice not meant for him, “Come on, boy.”

He heard her open the front door, pattering paws following diligently.

“Okay, see you soon. Love you,” he called right before he heard the door click shut.

A minute is such a brief amount of time. One minute alone affects such little in the grander scheme of life and death. But for Roy, the next sixty seconds were the longest of his life.

He listened for footsteps, for a door re-opening, for anything to disprove the idea that he was now in the apartment alone, that she hadn’t left completely. When those sixty seconds passed, when he was sure there were no sounds other than his pulse and the hum of the oven fan, he exhaled raggedly, gulping air as if he had been underwater for too long and finally resurfaced. He could feel the blood thumping in his ears, dulling all sound as he sat at the desk alone.

Two months since their first kiss. Six weeks since they first made love.

Sixty seconds since he first said he loved her.

He didn’t mean to, _of course_ he didn’t mean to. Nobody would intentionally declare love for someone for the first time in another room as they were about to leave. The words just slipped out, as casually as if he’d been ending sentences that way for years. The only people he’d ever said those words to were his parents and Madame Christmas. And now her.

 _No_. That didn’t count. He was tired and he wasn’t thinking and he didn’t mean it anyway. Did he?

He’d said the words _about_ her once, years ago, but he was very drunk and sad and even then he had began with the caveat “I think”.

_“I think I love her,” he slurred, slumping over to rest his forehead on the bar as Hughes rubbed a reassuring hand across his back. “God, I’m so fucked.”_

The next day, he nursed a hangover and fixed Hughes a glare that told him he was never to speak of that night again. He was never to even think about it. Both of them would pretend that night had never happened.

And until this moment, Roy had succeeded. He buried his confession deep down into his subconscious and tried to forget that the word ‘love’ even existed.

But now he was sitting alone, in her apartment, paperwork forgotten about as he tried to remember to breathe.

She hadn’t even heard him. It didn’t happen, as far as she knew. He could do it again, bury the words somewhere deep down where he couldn’t find them if he tried. She didn’t have to know what he said.

But _he_ knew. And so much of their lives were already built on secrets from others; their intertwined pasts that coupled his dreams for the future with her curse, inked on her back. He kept their secrets every day with sealed lips, she kept it with her clothing. And their new relationship, their shared nights together, were a secret to everyone but them. Some people have speculated about it, but only _they_ knew. And now there was another secret, and it seemed almost unfair that he knew it and she didn’t.

What was he supposed to do? Wait until she got back and tell her “By the way, before you left I said that I loved you, but it was an accident and I’m not even sure I meant it”? That seemed crueler than just keeping his mouth shut.

And yes, he cared for her, more than anyone else in the world. He thought about her constantly, even when she wasn’t in the room. He would kill for her, die for her. He almost performed Human Transmutation for her, and the only reason he didn’t was because she didn’t want him to. But did he love her?

He had so little experience with love. Every relationship prior to this one was an exchange of bodies alone. There was appreciation, sure, but feelings never ran deeper than that. The only thing he knew of love for sure was that Hughes loved his wife with every part of his soul. But Hughes and Gracia’s love was… simpler. Hughes had his demons, and Roy was sure that Gracia had her own, but their love was healing, kind. Roy and Riza didn’t have the luxury of meeting as peers, there have always been authorities to drive a wedge between them. First her father, then the military. Not to mention the hurt they’ve been through together, that they’ve put each other through. They were messy people, and something like love just seemed too pure a label for them. Love was supposed to be simple.

She deserved something simple.

She deserved a love that wasn't destined to bring her to her grave. He burns everything he touches, and she is so strong, but he doesn’t want her to be consumed like that, used up until she has nothing of her own. She deserved so much better than him. She deserved someone to simply love her.

But even the thought of her finding someone else made his blood boil. How could _anyone_ be worthy of Riza Hawkeye? How could someone deserve to love her, or deserve her love? Who could warrant her trust, her earnest smiles, her dry humor, her gorgeous body, her defiant eyes, her ridiculous devotion, her resilient spirit? Who could hold her soul in their hands and not dirty it in some way? She didn’t deserve to be alone, but there wasn’t a man or woman on this earth who could match her. Of course, he had little say in who she would decide to give her soul to. It would have to be her own choice.

And she chose him.

He smiled at the thought. She chose him, even if it’s just for now. And Riza never makes choices willy-nilly. She is calculated in every step she takes, so much so that she has a cartographer’s accuracy with mapping out areas using just her footsteps. Despite every reason for them _not_ to be together – their pasts, their broken promises, their careers – she chose to be with him. And who is he to second-guess her decisions?

As the panic gently sifted from his body, he began to feel the underlying sense of relief. He loves her. There is no doubt. Their pasts, their _futures_ , may be complicated, but loving her is simple. He was being silly in even questioning it. The question wasn’t ‘did he love her’, it was ‘how could he _not?_ ’

And now he had said it aloud, even if she hadn’t heard him, and it was as if there had been a pressure slowly building for years underneath his temples and he had released it through those words. He admitted it to himself. Now all that was left was to admit it to her.

This time, he would do it right. This time he would at least make sure they were in the same room. She would hear him, and more importantly she would see him. She would look at him after he said the words and she would know that he thought about them. He wouldn’t say them casually, like an afterthought. He would say them with as much purpose as he could muster, and she would know that he meant them.

He heard the door click open and he snapped out of his trance. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, he cursed under his breath. Had he really just spent twenty-five minutes freaking out? He hadn’t done any of his paperwork! Great, he finally admitted that he loved her and now he wasn’t going to get the chance to tell her because he was going to be kicked out of her apartment for slacking. Tucking his legs under the desk, he leaned forward and opened a file, willing his eyes to focus on the writing in front of him.

He heard the fan of the oven click off before her footsteps became much lighter. She had removed her shoes. She opened the door into the living room and he didn’t dare look up at her, for fear of her seeing his face and deducing that he had done absolutely nothing since she left.

In his periphery, he saw her lean down to detach Hayate’s leash from his collar, before pointing to the corner of the room towards his bed. The dog dutifully scurried to his destination.

He scribbled his signature on some of the documents as she passed him, heading for the door leading to her bedroom. As she passed, she ran a hand across his shoulder-blades lightly. When she opened the door, she murmured, so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

“I love you too.” The door clicked shut behind her.

He smiled, putting down his pen and pushing his chair from the desk with a loud scrape.

The paperwork could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's that! I feel quite sad it's all over now!
> 
> Please let me know what you liked, what you didn't, or what you would like to see more of from me. And if you have any requests for a giftfic or a prompt, let me know in the comments or pm me on ff.net [here](https://www.fanfiction.net/~1sttimecaller) or on my (very new, never really used as of yet) tumblr [here](https://1st-time-caller.tumblr.com/)!


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